


Eunomia

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 05:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10610061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: Post VA-Day: Lawrence has to babysit Joe until the wiretap is up and running.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madchen/gifts).



Lawrence is feeling alert. Sharp. A little too sharp maybe. Possibly he's overdone it with the Pervitin but coffee can only keep you awake for so long and he hasn't slept for-- he looks at his wrist watch, for about thirty-six hours. And they've been busy thirty-six hours. He recounts the events in his head, again and again, a strategy to occupy his restless mind. VA Day parade seems half a lifetime ago now. After the festivities he performed several hours of uneventful office duty. Then he was called to the Smith residence to arrest Standartenführer Wegener, and a second time after that, to fetch the Obergruppenführer himself and Joe Blake. It had been almost morning by then, dawn a silver smudge on the horizon.

By the time they reached the SS headquarters, it was bright day and the interrogation lasted another couple of hours. It's afternoon now and Lawrence has definitely earned himself a bit of a break. But someone has to watch Blake until the wiretap is installed and while it may seem excessive to have someone of his rank take on the job, he'd rather do it himself and sleep soundly afterwards than worry about Blake pulling of some trick again and trying to warn the girl. And the less people they know about this the better. Maybe he's being paranoid but better safe than sorry. 

He doesn't trust Blake a fucking inch. In his opinion it's not even remotely surprising he swallowed the bait, he's got traitor written all over him. When he said earlier they should have put a bullet in Blake's brain he did mean it. Probably he shouldn't have said it out loud though. Obergruppenführer Smith seems intent on keeping Blake around for various services and small jobs, despite his obvious incompetence; he even bothered with setting up this trap regardless the foreseeable outcome, and it's not Lawrence' place to question that decision. The Obergruppenführer surely has his reasons. 

Lawrence can only blame the drug for his lapse in protocol. His uncalled-for remark must have been the Pervitin speaking. It makes everything appear so simple and straight-forward. Lawrence likes that feeling of clarity but the drug also tends to make him impatient and rash and under certain circumstances that can be a problem.

Just like now, when the sight of Blake moping about on the sofa causes his blood pressure to rise. Blake really has no idea how lucky he is the Obergruppenführer likes him so much, otherwise he'd be on Rikers Island now, or actually dead, not in the cosy apartment of his girlfriend. Any normal man would be thankful he's been given a second chance. But not Joe fucking Blake, wanna-be spy and utter disgrace to every SD agent in the GNR, who is sulking instead like a spoiled child. 

Because that's what he is, Lawrence thinks, a spoiled brat who's never been properly punished for his disobedience so he didn't learn how to behave himself. His right hand is itching with the urge to rectify this failure and it takes quite a lot of willpower not to give in but stand by and exercise patience.

But waiting is hard when amphetamines are pumping through your veins. When Blake gets up from the sofa and moves towards the door, Lawrence automatically takes a step forward to block his way.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“Getting a coke,” Blake says, defiantly. “Is that a crime now, _Sturmbannführer_?” He uses the rank with so much sarcasm, Lawrence feels a prompt surge of rage bubbling up inside him.

“Careful,” he hisses.

“Or else?” Blake says, unimpressed. “Will you put a bullet in my brain?”

That's it, that's the last straw. Lawrence has Blake shoved up against the wall before he's even realised he wants to do it, his forearm pushing against Blake's throat, hard.

“Now listen you little shit.” It comes out as a growl, feral, angry, and Blake's eyes narrow. So he does have some balls after all. Good. A bit of resistance will make it even more satisfying to put Blake back in his place. “Obergruppenführer Smith may have taken a liking to you, but that doesn't mean you'll get away with everything, understood. From now on you will do as you're told.” 

“You know the thing is,” Blake is looking him straight in the eye, apparently not in the least cowed by his outburst, “I don't have to do what you tell me, _Sturmbannführer_ , I'm getting my orders directly from the Obergruppenführer.” He's trying push back, get rid of Lawrence' hold on him but Lawrence is taller and heavier and so much more of a soldier. Blake is no match for him.

“You think you're so special, indispensable,” Lawrence says, “but you're just another tramp the Obergruppenführer makes use of.” It's the amphetamines talking, why else would he be so livid about this?

Blake looks at him with a strange expression, as if he finally understood something. “So that's what this is? You're jealous?” 

The ridicule of his tone, the arrogant curl of his lips is only adding to Lawrence' fury. He increases the pressure of his arm against his throat. Blake's eyes go wide. He chokes, his mouth falling open in a gasp, but this time he doesn't struggle, which comes at a surprise. But Lawrence is preoccupied with another question. His mind is working at high capacity to make sense of his confusion. Jealous, why the fuck should he be jealous? 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snarls, loosening his grip on Blake a little, suddenly uncertain what he's actually doing. 

Blake doesn't hesitate for a second and uses the opportunity to break free. But instead of pushing Lawrence away, he's clutching the lapels of his uniform and pulls him even closer.

“I think you do,” he says, his voice low and husky.

“What the fuck is this?” Lawrence says, stupidly. Blake's lips look so lush from close up, he can't tear his eyes away.

Blake gives his jacket another tug, and Lawrence is too distracted to pay proper attention. A second later their mouths crash together in what is more bite than kiss and Lawrence is stunned because for all the feeling of clarity provided by his high, he hasn't seen this coming. He thought about beating Blake, backhanding him across the face until his nose bleeds, he didn't fantasise about biting his lip bloody. 

He didn't fantasise about ripping each others clothes off either, about peeling away layer by layer of fabric to be able to claw and bite and suck at bare skin, but somehow that's how they end up, a tangle of limbs on the sofa, teeth buried in each other's flesh like rabid dogs, fumbling and groping. The anger is melting away as they move against each other, panting, then kissing, hungry for more touch, more taste, more stimulation. 

Blake drags his nails viciously over Lawrence' chest, leaving angry red traces, but the pain is just spurring him on, blurring into the exquisite pleasure of Blake's fingers closing around his erection, pulling hard. He wraps his hand around Blake's cock to repay the favour, stroke by stroke. Blake moans, head thrown back, eyes closed. 

It's a lovely sight, Lawrence has to admit. So lovely he can't resist pressing his lips to Blake's in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. He thrusts his tongue into his mouth and Blake moans again, lower, deeper, an animal sound that makes Lawrence bury his hand in Blake's hair, some part of him convinced it is necessary to hold on to him, hold him in place, and Blake submits, bares his throat to him, relaxes his jaw so Lawrence can kiss him as he pleases.

If this is the Joe Blake Obergruppenführer Smith gets to see on a regular basis, it's no surprise he's eager to keep him. 

Lawrence tightens his fingers in Joe's hair and pulls and Joe doesn't resist but follows the movement, stretches out further under Lawrence but he never forgets to keep up the motion of his hand on his cock. He strokes him with apparent diligence, enthusiastic even. Finally something he's good at.

Somehow they find a rhythm, sloppy and a bit too rough and too fast, but it works just fine. Soon Lawrence hand is so wet with precum he's wondering if Joe has already climaxed but it's just his cock, leaking steadily. He seems so sensual, completely lost in his pleasure, every stroke evokes another shudder running through his body, he twists and writhes under Lawrence as if the pleasure was agony, so pretty in his abandon. 

Quite understandable the Obergruppenführer is so fond of him, Lawrence thinks, half reconciled with Smith's decision, now that he's having a taste for himself. But then Joe tightens his grip a little bit more, adding a twist to the movement of his hand, and Lawrence has other, better things to focus on.

Like Joe's small gasps, for example, or how his face scrunches up in pleasure, or how Lawrence himself is beginning to feel light-headed and dizzy, how his cock is throbbing in Joe's hand, the pressure and friction so good, his whole body is tense with it. There is an edge to his desire, perhaps it's the drug, perhaps still a residue of his anger, but it makes him bite down into Joe's shoulder, harder than before, and Joe twitches and groans and then he comes, a wet spatter over Lawrence hand, and Joe's fingers slacken, but Lawrence grasps for them, closes his own, larger hand around Joe's and thrusts into it, faster, angrier, fucking his hand, pushing towards his his own climax.

Joe looks like a mess afterwards, scratched and bruised and covered in spunk, but he doesn't seem sulky for a change, on the contrary, and Lawrence himself is also in a pretty good mood.

When the technician calls to inform him that the wiretap is up and running, Lawrence is almost disappointed they won't have the time for a second round.

~


End file.
